Girl With Guitar (14 page)

K
ylie
didn’t have time to respond to Pauly’s comment. Trace burst through the door, barely wasting a second to glance at her and then spoke to his manager as if she wasn’t there.

“She wanted fifty grand,” he said with an eye roll. “Like that was ever going to happen. I told her Kylie was just another one hit wonder and she would be lucky if anyone even remembered her name after this tour ended, much less made any real money. She settled for half that and signed the NDA. I told her I’d have someone send her a copy in case she got any ideas about writing any tell-alls in the future.”

Kylie didn’t recognize this man. The one talking to Pauly like she was nothing. He knew the business, though, and if this was what he thought about her career, then he was probably right.
It’s recently come to my attention that you’ve actually got some talent,
he’d said to her outside his mini studio. But that was before he’d screwed her.

No, it was more than that. She knew in her heart he hadn’t been planning on that. But he’d been more than clear about one thing. Darla or no Darla, he didn’t do relationships. What had happened was a one and done and she was going to have to deal with it like a big girl. Pauly nodded like he agreed with Trace’s assessment but Kylie spoke before he could voice his opinion out loud.

She lifted her chin and aimed her words at the middle of the room. “I’ll pay you back as soon as I can, if anyone remembers my name after tomorrow, that is.”

Kylie heard Trace say something but she couldn’t make it out and didn’t know if she even wanted to. She slipped out of his room and into hers, locking the latch behind her. It wasn’t necessary. No one came to check on her.

T
he
sound of pounding on her door woke Kylie before dawn.
Please let it be him
. She didn’t even care if he wanted to yell and cuss. She just wanted to hash it all out so she would know where she stood.

“Kylie, come on. You have a Skype date,” Pauly’s voice announced.

The Skype date was with Cora and she was in full make-up running all through modes of damage control as Kylie struggled to focus on her image through blurry eyes. Basically Cora just wanted to know if anything Darla was saying was true and if the woman was going to be showing up causing problems.

“Cora, I swear, she is a lying bitch of the lowest form. I never seduced any of her “men” or anything even remotely like that. And I have no ties to her in any way now.”

“Tell me the truth, kid, because the shit will hit the fan sooner or later and I could do a lot better by you and Trace both if I know what’s coming. Are you sleeping together?”

An involuntary flinch rocked her slightly and Cora nodded. “Okay, well, how about you knock it off until all this dies down? Your wicked step-monster made some seriously damaging comments to a few reporters and Trace really doesn’t need that right now. And frankly, neither do you.”

Kylie nodded and hoped Cora could tell through the pixelated image. “Pretty sure it was a one-time thing,” she said quietly, not sure if the MacBook’s mic even picked it up.

“Relax, you’re not the first girl to fall for walking sin in tight jeans.”

It was the first kind thing anyone had said to her since Darla’s little visit. Kylie wondered if Cora was referring to her own experience with Trace specifically. Not that it was any of her business.

“Thanks,” she said quietly.

“Okay, well, go back to bed. You look like hell. It’s one more show, Kylie. You’ll be fine. We’ll talk more later about what’s next. An all-girl Random Road Trip tour sponsored by Vitamin Water has an open spot and I’m going to throw your name in the hat. That okay with you?”

“Um, yeah. Sure,” she answered even though it was really too early to even process what Cora was saying.

“And I know Pauly has called Chaz Michaelson out to see you perform in South Carolina. He’s great, and you’ll love him, but um…maybe don’t love him too much ‘cause he’s gay.” With that Cora flashed her perfect smile and disconnected.

When Kylie stood up to head back to her room she thought she saw a shadow in the doorway. Pauly probably.

She went back to bed and lay awake. The only thing connecting her to whoever Trace had been when they were in Georgia was a slight soreness that she hoped would never go away. Because when it did, it would be like it never happened. The one day of happiness she’d had since her dad died, and it was starting to feel like she’d dreamed the whole thing.

Cora knew what had happened and since Pauly had called her, he must know too. She wondered what Trace had told him. Oh well. Not like she was expecting to have much privacy in this business anyways. If random strangers could comment publically about her bra size, no reason her sex life shouldn’t be common knowledge. Just made it that much easier to let go. If it had remained a shared secret between her and Trace, she might’ve been stupid enough to think it actually meant something.

W
hen
Kylie woke up from a convoluted dream in which Darla was suing her in court over something that made absolutely no sense, she felt like she hadn’t slept in days. Her head throbbed, her eyelids were heavy, and her entire body was stiff.

She stretched and headed to the shower. Once she exited her tiny corner of the world, she realized the bus felt strangely empty. Even Carl, the driver who she knew had three sons and a daughter with his wife Lorna of sixteen years, was missing.

God, he probably hated her now too. In the beginning when Trace behaved as if she had the plague, and Pauly had spent all his time on his phone, Carl had been her only company. Jesus, she was even going to miss him. The list kept growing. Her dad, Lulu, Tonya, even Clive a little, Trace more than she had the strength to admit, Claire Ann, Rae, Pauly, and now Carl. She had to stop talking to people. Period.

And that’s when it hit her. As the steamy water rushed over her, she realized all she had to do was close herself off. Just stop volunteering information and contributing to conversations altogether. Trace had acted like that from the beginning and if she’d just been equally as cold right back, none of this ever would’ve happened.

But giving up the memory of that amazing trip to Macon would be damn near impossible. The party, Rae’s excitement just because Kylie was there, the dancing, the writing that was almost as intimate as the sex, the mud fight, and so help her, the love making that was so good she’d worried she was becoming a nymphomaniac.

But it wasn’t just that, it was all of it—the whole package. It was a life with someone she loved and a family who accepted and welcomed her in. People who understood how she felt about music and what it meant and what she’d do for it. But they didn’t really. She’d seen the disbelief on his face at Darla’s words. Trace would never understand why she’d lied about actually having a family member, even if it was a psycho non-blood-related one. Of course not, because in his scenario, he’d been the one who was disowned.

Once again the weight of what she was losing pressed down on her like it had at breakfast that morning in Georgia. It would be so easy to slink down onto the shower floor and just cry. She knew if she let go and gave in she’d never be able to stop. It wasn’t like things were going to change.

Not for you, Kylie. Nobody wants you for more than one night.

If the boys she’d fooled around with in pickups and behind the bleachers in high school hadn’t wanted people to know they were together, what in God’s name had made her think someone like Trace Corbin would be interested? Well, whatever it was, she was done being the naïve hick from Oklahoma. She’d made a promise to her daddy, one she intended to keep.

After her shower there was a black garment bag on her bed. Someone had been in her room.

No more choices apparently.

A champagne-colored dress covered in sequins gleamed from inside. It was actually her size for once but it was cut low in the front and the hem would barely cover her thighs. Fine, she could do this. Be sexy and strong and sing her ass off. Her dad had taught her to work hard at whatever her job was.
I don’t care if you’re a famous movie star or you clean toilets for a living, Kylie. All that matters is that you give whatever you do everything you have. Never let anyone else out-work you.

Her dad never would have done what the factory spokesperson had said. Unless he was preoccupied because she was mad at him. Stressed about the fact that she and Darla were always at each other’s throats and he was constantly caught in the middle.
Not your fault, Kylie
, a small voice inside her head whispered. But she’d always wondered.

Seventeen years at his job and not a single safety violation. Then one day he forgets to tie a cord securing a steel coil that weighed nearly a ton and he’s gone forever.

Well, she wasn’t about to shame his memory by throwing away her shot at her dream over a guy, no matter who he was or how she felt about him.

She knew it was a risky thing to do, not to mention unprofessional, but she skipped sound check. She wanted to do a cover of a Kelly Clarkson song that had been stuck in her head and she needed to work on it alone. And she couldn’t face him just yet.

She was supposed to go on at seven and the bus was blissfully empty until nearly six. She kept expecting someone to come bitch at her about missing sound check, but no one ever did. It was both a relief and a slap to her ego.

She did her own hair and make-up and slipped on the dress. She looked at the sky high nude stilettos she was supposed to wear and almost laughed out loud. Sure, a fall on her ass should make for great publicity. No thank you. She slipped on her dark brown worn-in cowgirl boots. She was going to do things her way, and if it didn’t work out then she’d have no one to blame but herself. No “fight the machine” bitterness that Trace held onto. Just a face in the mirror. She pulled her favorite jean jacket over it and gave her wild curls one more toss. For the first time in a long time she felt like herself, and she was okay with whoever that was.

“K
ylie,
thank God.” Pauly rushed towards her backstage. “Please tell me you’ve been with Trace and you both just got back from wherever the hell you were. I won’t even be mad, I swear.”

Oh no.

“I’ve been on the bus alone, Pauly,” Kylie said slowly. “I haven’t talked to Trace once since you told me not to. In fact, I haven’t even seen him since I left you guys last night.” Unless he was the shadow early this morning after her Skype call with Cora.

“Son of a—”

“What’s going on?” she asked, terrified of hearing the answer.

“He’s gone,” Pauly told her. “We’ve been looking for him all day and he’s not answering his cell.”

She had just over an hour before she was supposed to go on. Chaz Michaelson was going to be there and if she wasn’t at her best he wouldn’t manage her, and Pauly had already washed his hands of her. The rumors about her and Trace alone had people wary of working with her, according to Cora. But what she’d said in the truck was still true, even after everything.

“What happens if he doesn’t show?” she asked Pauly. It was the last show on the tour, so maybe it wasn’t that big of a deal.

“Then he’s done,” Pauly answered, sinking into a sofa chair.

“Well yeah, the tour’s over. I mean what will—”

“No, Kylie,” Pauly interrupted. “I mean he’s
done
done. This tour was supposed to be an arena tour, but with all the bad publicity from the public intox charge last year and the fights and the girls, tickets weren’t selling so they downgraded him to small venues in hopes of a comeback. This was literally his last shot and after the no-show in Dallas the label warned him that the next time he cost them money they would drop him.”

Damn. Trace was right—it was a machine and if you stopped producing it spit you out. It couldn’t end this way for him. She’d seen the look of sheer bliss on his face as he strummed his guitar and worked out lyrics to fit with hers.

“Stall, Pauly. I will find him. He will perform. Don’t tell anyone anything, okay?” Kylie demanded as she started to leave.

“No,” he said, startling her by standing abruptly and grabbing her arm just before she stepped out of reached. “Kylie, if you don’t make it back in time for your performance then you’ll be done too. Nashville is like high school—people talk, things get out. Not only will Chaz Michaelson tell everyone you’re a flake but there’ll be bad blood between you and the label. You signed a contract,” he reminded her gently.

“So it’s my career or his, Pauly. Is that what you’re telling me?”

“No. I am simply pointing out that if you get caught up in his mess and don’t get back here before you’re supposed to be on stage, then you won’t have a leg to stand on when it comes to having a career in country music and there won’t be much I can do to help you.”

“And what about him? If I perform tonight and he never shows, will there be anything you can do to help him? Can’t you talk to someone at the label?”

“I’ve done everything I can for him—and then some. I’ve begged, pleaded, apologized, and called in every last favor I had. You can’t make someone want this life.”

“But he does want it. He’s just mad at me and taking it out on himself because that’s what he does,” she pleaded. It was so clear now. This was Trace’s MO. Self-destruct so he won’t hurt anyone else. Unless his sideshow fling falls for him, then his asinineness hurts her, too.

“Wait. Stop and think for a second. You want this and you’re talented. Don’t go looking for him. Don’t throw your shot away like he keeps doing. Most people don’t get so many.”

“I have to,” she told him as she slid her arm out of his grasp. “Because this time he’s throwing it away because of me.”